


The Ways of Water

by ForAllLove



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: An Excess of Cowboys, Damage to Prostheses, Double Ultimates, Established Relationship, Hanzo Has Prosthetic Leggies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Gone Wrong, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForAllLove/pseuds/ForAllLove
Summary: An accident during battle temporarily creates three copies of McCree. Hanzo finds this agreeable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Overwatch Big Bang](http://owbigbang.tumblr.com) collaboration with [shadow-pop](http://shadow-pop.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks to [28ghosts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts), [Nopholom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom), [shadow-pop](http://shadow-pop.tumblr.com), and [missjunkmouse](http://missjunkmouse.tumblr.com) for their beta work.

The well-disciplined mind is a pool of still water.

Tucked in the shadow of a gable above empty streets, Hanzo reminds himself of this, slows his breathing, and waits. _Prepare for all possible outcomes so that you may adapt as the situation changes._

He has a clear view of the skies and the plaza where their payload rests, laden with clean energy sources that could power Overwatch’s efforts for months to come. Soldier: 76 is en route with transportation. Hana is covering the mouth of the plaza to the east; should she require assistance, he can cross the roof in a matter of seconds. Below…

Jesse McCree lounges against the payload. Light flares at the tip of his cigar, dancing red into the grooves of his prosthetic arm. The smoke curls around him in the heavy evening air as if it cannot bear to be apart from him.

The well-disciplined mind is not usually faced with such a distraction.

Hanzo focuses on the cross-street — looks again — tears his attention away— 

“It’s quiet… _too_ quiet.”

Conceding for now, Hanzo snorts. “Dramatic.”

McCree’s gaze leaps to his position in the shadows. He grins around his cigar, mimes shooting a gun with a soft click of his tongue. His voice rolls warm and lazy in Hanzo’s earpiece. “I’ve got more.”

“Eyes on the street,” Hanzo says, despite the laugh sneaking into his voice, “not on me.”

McCree puffs smoke towards him through pursed lips. His eyes are not on the street.

“ _Please_ ,” Hana cuts in. “Can you be less gross? Some of us have a job to do.”

There is a burst of static, followed by Soldier: 76 muttering, “Kids these days.”

McCree straightens and shakes out his arms. “Well, look who finally decided to call in! Thought maybe you’d gone home without us.”

“You wish. ETA’s in eight. Try to stay on target — I might have picked up a few followers.”

Hana’s mech stomps to a better position as she grumbles, “I’m _losing_ followers faster than you’re driving…”

After waving to McCree, who tips his hat in acknowledgement, Hanzo scurries over the rooftops to check the surrounding alleys again. He winds his way in a circle around the plaza, from eave to balcony and back. The shadows are long and blurry now. A night breeze slices down one quiet street, chasing a sheet of packing plastic; as the plastic tumbles past, a flicker of blue catches his eye.

He wavers, shifts his grip, steels himself. “McCree, possible threat, southwest.”

McCree’s acknowledgement fades behind renewed wariness. Hanzo drops to the cobblestones with his bow at the ready. The street appears as vacant as the others, silent but for the taps of his feet. His skin prickles with anticipation.

The blue light comes from a metallic cylinder nestled beside a battered dumpster. It does not look like a bomb. It does look like it was planted. He scratches his thumbnail over the nock of his arrow, back and forth. The light blinks once, twice—

The cylinder snaps open.

Hanzo skitters back, already signaling his teammates. The air in front of him tears. The other side begins to spill through. “They have a teleporter!”

He looses an arrow into the tear, draws again, splits the head so it will scatter. The portal swells as an omnic passes through, and through, and _through_. Hanzo fires and bolts for the nearest building. The scatter shot bursts against the street. Shrapnel peppers the omnic, pinging off its metal hide. Its eye burns red.

Hanzo scrambles up the wall, grasping at the brickwork, his feet making up the gaps with gravity seals. He leaps for the eave—

The omnic snatches him out of the air—

He hits the ground rolling, stumbles—

Pain ignites in his legs. Hanzo crashes to earth.

His lungs seize; his stomach roils. The artificial nerves in his legs are convulsing. His eyes roll, wide and unfocused, and he twists to face his enemy, to lash out at the massive foot that pins him.

The omnic grinds its foot to one side.

His next breath rips from his throat as a ragged shriek.

Hanzo rolls, dragged by straining neural connectors. He screams, sobs, claws at the cobblestones. Metal screeches, crumpling beneath unyielding pressure. The omnic blurs above him; its shoulder-mounted cannons begin to glow.

A pop, a flash—

_McCree._

The omnic’s head swivels; it lumbers away from Hanzo towards the new threat. Groaning, Hanzo curls around his ruined legs.

Between the bulk of the omnic and the dark spots pressing on his periphery, he can scarcely see McCree — but he hears him, whooping and hollering, cracking shot after shot into the omnic.

The omnic swipes at him, overbalances, folds its legs down — roots itself to the cobblestones.

A second flashbang goes off, a third, and then McCree dives into Hanzo’s sightline. He comes up fanning the last rounds in his cylinder.

The energy bullets splash against the omnic’s plating.

Its twin cannons flare.

The dragons burst from Hanzo’s skin.

They howl down upon the omnic like a tsunami, bellowing their celestial fury. Snapping jaws rend metal from metal; they peel the omnic’s hide away as easily as rice paper. 

Amidst the maelstrom, McCree stands immovable. The dragons wheel about. The air sizzles around him. Lightning-quick, he strikes — six bullets, punched into the spaces the dragons have stripped bare.

The omnic’s red eye flickers.

The storm passes. 

With a screech and a rumble, the omnic topples into the teleporter. Its carcass shatters the stone where it falls. The portal ripples around the wreckage.

The night is still once more.

Hanzo cradles his knee in trembling hands. Chilled sweat prickles along his sides. He cannot find the releases for his legs.

Then, McCree is there, crouched over the tangle of wires and crushed metal, comforting as he always does. Hanzo clings to the worn serape, whimpers into his own shoulder. His legs disengage one after the other; the relief is immediate. McCree gathers him up in warm, welcome arms, and Hanzo sags against him with tears welling in his eyes.

As the moments pass, he lets his world expand — from rough, smoky fabric to kisses in his hair, from slow rocking to cool breezes, from the soothing current of McCree’s voice to Hana’s questions in his earpiece. Hanzo pulls himself upright, brushes off McCree’s concern, accepts a steadying arm. Once he is stable, McCree stands.

The omnic lies halfway through its own teleporter. It blocks the way through, but this will not last. Hanzo shivers and reaches for McCree.

McCree bends to lift him. The omnic’s lights begin to pulse.

The teleporter explodes in waves of blue. 

“Jesse,” Hanzo cries — then he hears nothing over the ringing in his ears.

Light and energy wash over them. McCree curls over Hanzo, surrounds him as the air crackles. Hanzo clutches his serape. He cannot breathe.

McCree slips through his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Keep watch for shadow-pop's art!


End file.
